Chapter Nine
Safely backed against the wall of the ballroom, Duncan watched the entrance for his precious Merry.
She was the only reason he would ever consider attending one of these bloody things.
In his opinion, these social gatherings, put on for the sole purpose of elevating one’s standing, whether politically, matrimonially, or among the ton’s elite, were a waste of time.
He sniffed, doing his best not to sneeze or rub his nose.
The room, though quite large and accommodating, was suffocating with the strong scent of hothouse flowers.
Overwhelming swaths of pale pink tulle joined the floral assault, along with so many statues of cupids in various poses that he’d be having nightmares about those wee bare arses.
“Did ye even have the good manners to speak to the hostess?” Malcolm asked as he handed Duncan a drink.
“I did. Thankfully, she and Mother remembered each other from years ago.” Duncan took a sip of the reddish-brown liquid in the glass and barely kept himself from gagging. “What the devil is this?”
“Lady Atterley’s infamous ratafia. It was either that or lemonade, and I know how ye feel about lemonade. Besides, I thought ye could do with something stronger. There’s a wee drop of brandy in it.”
“Wee drop, my arse.”
“Ye drink whisky. Are ye telling me ye canna handle some brandy?”
“I am telling ye I dinna care for the sweetness of that swill.” Duncan glanced around, searching for an inconspicuous place to set the glass.
“Where is Mother now?” Whenever Merry arrived, he wished to introduce them.
Merry meeting his outspoken mother at the crowded first ball of the Season was preferable to their meeting in the privacy of a parlor.
Knowing Mother, the first thing she’d be asking Merry was how many bairns she intended to bring into this world, and he was none too certain about that prospect.
While he knew Merry wanted as many children as the Almighty would bless them with, Duncan worried such wishes would steal her from him.
So many women died while trying to bring wee ones into the world.
The thought of losing Merry, having her ripped away just as he had finally discovered the true meaning of happiness, made his gut churn.
Even though it would make her sad, he’d just as soon that they didn’t have any bairns at all.
At least then, she would be safe and alive.
“Did ye hear me, brother?” Malcolm nudged him.
“Sorry. Where did ye say she was?”
“Up there. On the balcony with Lady Atterley. It appears they were indeed close when they were both lasses.” Malcolm pointed at the entrance with his glass. “There be yer lovely lady. Since I am sure ye will be in her company the rest of the evening, I’m off to tend to my own adventures.”
“Aye.” Duncan barely heard his brother. Merry was a vision that made him forget how to breathe. An angel, even. Descended from the heavens to claim his heart and soul.
Her diaphanous gown of white shimmered and sparkled as it swirled around her, setting off her curves in a mouthwatering manner.
Her golden-blonde hair, swept up with diamonds and pearls, shone just as brightly as the jewels.
She moved with ethereal grace, seeming to float across the floor, and when her gaze met his, she smiled, welcoming him home.
In but a few long strides, he reached her and offered his arm. “My lady—ye take my breath away.”
“My handsome champion,” she said as she linked her arm through his.
“I had hoped you would be the first I would see.” A dance card hung from her wrist, tied with a silvery ribbon that matched her gown.
“I took the liberty of filling my card with your name.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief and so much more. “I hope you do not mind.”
“I look forward to our every dance, my own, from now to eternity.”
She stiffened, making him turn to follow her gaze.
Lord Brixham was headed their way.
“Chance is supposed to have spoken to that fool,” she said. “Seri promised he had.”
“That man respects no one.” Duncan covered her hand with his. “Dinna fash yerself, lass. I will always protect ye.”
“Kirkston.” Brixham barely acknowledged Duncan with a rude tip of his head before turning his full attention to Merry.
“Lady Merry. You are a vision. A work of art meant to be set on a pedestal and worshipped.” He held out his hand.
“Might I add my name to your dance card? I would love the first waltz.”
“Thank you, but no. My dance card is full.”
Duncan noticed she didn’t bother to curtsy, nor did she smile.
Brixham’s smile turned forced, colder. “But you only just arrived. I have been watching for you.”
“And yet my dance card is still full.” She offered him a dismissive curtsy. “Enjoy the party, Lord Brixham. I am sure your viscountess is out there somewhere waiting for you.”
Smile gone and his face reddening, Brixham moved closer. “This is not over, Lady Merry.”
Duncan gently drew her behind him. “Aye, Brixham. It is over. Be on yer way now. Ye’d not wish to embarrass yerself and insult yer hostess, now, would ye?”
“She is not yours yet.” The viscount bared his teeth like an enraged animal.
“Aye, she is and ever will be.” Duncan jutted his chin higher, barely restraining himself from snatching up the fool and showing him to the door. “Come to church this Sunday and hear the banns for yerself.”
“We shall see,” Brixham hissed like the adder that he was, then stormed off.
“I cannot bear that man,” Merry said.
“What did he say?” Serendipity asked as she hurried over to join them.
“He wanted a spot on my dance card and became most unreasonable when I informed him it was already full.” Merry shivered as though taken with a chill. “And he informed Duncan that I was not his yet.” She barely shook her head, her fair brows knotting in a worried scowl. “The man is unhinged.”
“He is relentless when he doesn’t get his way,” Serendipity said. “Chance warned he would be so.”
“I can be relentless as well.” Duncan drew Merry closer, looping her arm through his once again. “I dinna suffer fools.” The strains of a waltz caught his ear. “Come. Let us dance the first of many dances.”
“Indeed.” Her smile, even though strained, encouraged him.
He spun her out onto the floor, breathing her in and reveling in how, once again, they fit so perfectly and moved as one. “We were made for one another, my own.”
“Yes, my champion. We were.” With every turn around the dance floor, her smile brightened. “Everyone is watching. They know I don’t usually dance.”
“Why did ye not dance? Ye are perfection itself.”
Without missing a step, she tipped her head to the side the barest bit as if wishing she could shrug.
“I hid. Either in the nursery or some other hideaway where I knew I couldn’t be found.
Dowry hunters and doddering old lords in search of fresh breeding mares did not interest me.
” Her mischievous grin brightened. “You are smiling again.”
“What can I say, lass? Ye fill me with joy.”
“Duncan.”
“Aye?”
“The music has stopped.”
Tipping an ear toward the musicians, he feigned surprise. “So it has, my own.” Movement from the balcony just above them caught his eye. “Would ye do me the honor of meeting my mother?”
“I would be the honored one.” She took his arm while looking all around. “Is Malcolm here as well?”
“Aye, he is around here somewhere, doing his best to impress the ladies.”
“I am certain he is succeeding.” As they took the stairs leading to the balcony, her steps slowed. “Your mother knows Lady Atterley well enough to secure an invitation to her balcony?”
“It would seem so. According to Mother, they knew one another years ago and appear to have rekindled their friendship.”
“Lady Merry. Do come here, child, and let me have a look at you.” Lady Atterley waved them both closer to her chair, a mock throne fitted with miniature cupids.
Merry curtsied. “It is good to see you again, my lady, and the ball is wonderful. As always, you have opened the Season splendidly.”
The older woman, adorned with an abundance of feathery plumes, preened like a proud peahen under Merry’s praise.
“One must do what one can to set the tone.” She offered Duncan a smile.
“Lord Kirkston, it is good to see you in London at last, and I am so happy to see your mother. We were quite good friends years ago.” She turned and smiled at his mother. “Isn’t that so, Evelyn?”
“Indeed, we were, Mariane.” Mother shifted her attention to Merry and arched a brow, setting Duncan on edge.
“Mother, allow me to present Lady Merry Abarough, sister to the Duke of Broadmere.” He paused for half a heartbeat and added, “And soon to be my wife. We intend to have the first of the banns read this Sunday. Lady Merry, this is my mother, Lady Kirkston.”
“Nay, not Lady Kirkston. At least, not for much longer. Call me Lady Evelyn.” His mother held out both hands for Merry to take. “This is such a delight, my dear. I am verra pleased to meet the lass who has made my son so happy.”
Merry curtsied, then took his mother’s hands. “He is my champion, Lady Evelyn. He and Lord Malcolm not only saved my life, but the life of my sister as well.”
“My sons do me proud,” the dowager said, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears that only Duncan would understand. “They always have.”
“Such delightful on dit,” Lady Atterley crowed, “and we are the first to hear of this engagement. You must dance every waltz to set the tongues to chattering.” With a mischievous wink, she added, “And, of course, I shall help.” She shooed them away.
“Off with you now. The music awaits. The two of you move wonderfully on the dance floor.”